travellingbennetts

Day 77 and we are making our final African border entry of the C2C, the next one for most of us will be back into our respective country of origin. The process has become routine now, and with improving IT and rubber stamp quality the further south we go, it all happens very quickly. Which is good as the routine includes higher temperatures than pleasant to loiter about in, and South Africa at Vioolsdrift was no exception.

Three major advantages at this facility though, air conditioning, no requirement to fill in an arrivals form, and no exchange of entry facilitation services for pecuniary interest. So we burst out of the immigration office like the Charge of the Light Brigade, and into the Valley of Minimal Risk rode the nine waving their gate ticket. After reaching the gate house there was less dramatic forward moving, but more waiting about in the sun while the gate attendant matched the registration on the ticket to the number plate on each bike, and then we were in.

The northwestern side of South Africa is still fairly stony and deserted, but as we pushed the 100km south toward our destination of Springbok, the temperature dropped enough to chill the residual sweat and make the riding pleasant. A refuel and a stop at the ATM in Springbok, and we were ready to go out to the Springbok Inn a few kilometres south of town. Modern and well appointed, it is perfectly suited to the business traveller, in other words too far to walk to town and a bit sterile. Some of the dodgy characters we’d seen hanging about near the ATM didn’t really inspire a ride back in for Springbok cultural absorption, so we just accepted that it was a commute day and relaxed with some therapeutic washing of socks and chain tightening until it was a socially acceptable time to go to the bar.

Terry decided that he would pioneer South Africa for us rather than pioneer the Springbok Hotel bar fridge, so mounted up on the 1200GSA Mothership and pushed on in the hope that he could see a bit more around the south east in the limited time we had left. The rest of us simply couldn’t leave because of damp socks, so put the bikes in a sort of circle to form a laager, then went for a lager, dinner, and to respective beds to prepare for the big 550km push south on Day 78.

It dawned almost warm but not quite, however memories of 60 consecutive riding days of torrential sweat were soaked in deep, so minimum insulating preparation outside the norm was taken during dressing apart from shutting some zips. Then commenced the six motorcycle rider cooling phases, commencing naturally enough with phase one – feeling great because I am travelling through town so only moving slowly. Phase two is full speed, still feeling good because I had a hot shower and full English breakfast this morning and thermal inertia allows the heat to hang around for a bit. Phase three is starting to become aware of a slight chill, resulting in re-checking all relevant zips and being disturbed to discover they are fully sealed.

Phase four is thinking about turning on the hand warmers, and deciding half heat won’t react with the testosterone coursing through the veins. Phase five is going to full hand warmers, and telling oneself that Robert Falcon Scott and his brave men all died in the fierce cold of Antarctic blizzards in 1912, so toughen up man it really isn’t that bad. Phase five usually lasts at least 50km. Phase six is finally realising that your death from cold by a highway, albeit showing tremendous pluck, will not attract much media attention or leave a big legacy for your loved ones to cash in on, so why not just pull over and put a liner in?

All that was reversing by Vanrhynsdorp and we were well into the two well-known motorcyclist heating phases at the stop for fuel. Phase one is I’m hot, phase two is stopping and ripping everything out and off. Coffee was available at the servo so we sat in to take advantage, and then continued the southerly journey in an unpleasantly strong easterly wind through Clanwilliam and Citrusdal to a luncheon date under some gum trees. On the topic of wind, there is only one motorcyclist strong cross wind riding phase, known as the Harden T.F. Up phase. I think this was named after a Mr Tony Frederick Up who was the first to demonstrate that you just have to be stoic.

Lunch was by now moving into complete edibles disposal mode, with pound cake and date biscuits purchased in Sudan finally accepted as unlikely to be eaten in the last days, but still offered one more time just in case someone had fortunately gone mad.

Due to the hard yards in the morning, the afternoon was less challenging, at least until we got to Malmesbury where extensive roadworks had eliminated an intersection without informing Garmin. Seeing Craig and Kathy coming back the other way in a place it was impossible to turn around, while Cindy without a GPS was out of sight behind, created momentary rider confusion. The situation was resolved by ride leader Andrew, who was fortunately leading from behind, probably because he’d stopped to try to give away pound cake and date biscuits with use-by dates represented by the Julian Calendar, and who came through to mop up the navigation mess.

Following a quick stop for fuel and looking with temptation at the doors to the large wine shops, we rolled into Stellenbosch. By now it was quite warm and so the sweaty arrivals continued unabated, made worse by the GPS indicating that the Roosewijn Guest House was the middle of a concrete roundabout. A stop in a car park to violently stab the gloved finger into the heart of the beast, accompanied by tooting of car horns as we’d blocked the exit, resulted in success in reaching the correct destination.

Stellenbosch is a University town, so full of fit looking people and great restaurants and wine bars and boutique pubs. The concierge at the Roosewijn Guest House even made a point that it is very safe, and we could wander home non compos mentis at 3am wearing all our diamond jewellery on flimsy chains if we were so inclined. Deciding instead for a stroll around the small centre, and unable to get past a boutique pub, Cindy was forced into a 3 gin sampler and I into a couple of attractive IPA’s, the first of the continent. Finishing the evening with steak the size of a 1990’s laptop and a local wine, we blundered back to the guest house at 9pm with all our jewellery on display.

The Day 79 route was slightly changed, for the first time in the C2C, demonstrating just how mature we had become as a riding group as we all knew we’d get lost anyway. Rather than just ride the 199km east to Waenhuiskrans/Arniston and call it a penultimate day, we would re-cluster there and ride south to Cape L’Agulhas, where it becomes impossible to ride any further south in Africa without risking some salt water ingress. The main reason was that the weather looked okay for Day 79, but would deteriorate on Day 80. Unanimously we headed off, with some Bacchanalian like-minded individuals in Adrian and Hera and Cindy and I stopping for a look at the magnificent Boschendal winery, started from humble beginnings by Huguenot Jean de Long in 1685, making it one of the Cape’s oldest.

After regrets that we couldn’t just finish the C2C at Boschendal were reconciled, we headed east out of Franschhoek over some fantastic motorcycling roads, devoid of any motorcycles but ourselves, as it was a Friday. A surprising section of gravel for about 12km, and then doubts started to surface regarding the veracity of the weather forecasts, with misty looking clouds hanging about to the east. After Caledon, the misty looking clouds turned into drizzle, interspersed with showers, making the experience somewhat miserable for the poorly dressed and under-prepared.

At around lunchtime, we pulled into the Arniston Spa Hotel, where strong easterlies made the rain angle move from vertical to near horizontal and right through the front door, forcing the heavily padded arriving guests bearing bike gear into a sort of ‘Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich’ shuffle coming in. Lunch was priority number one, mainly because we were too early to check in, so there were no other priorities available. A warming soup soon had the cockles close to the correct temperature, and word that we could check in raised the spirits, then pushed even higher when we found a complimentary flask of sherry in the room. Certainly a first for hotel experiences, but it was too early for a small sherry as the L’Agulhas plan had not changed, even though it was hard to imagine the weather could get much worse without adding a soupçon of sleet.

Taking Mr T.F. Up’s hardening philosophy on board, we mounted up and headed the 45km down to the cape, including about 20km of fun gravel road that didn’t get slippery when wet. Although very poorly signposted, the rule of thumb of “find a lighthouse” held firm and just west of Agulhas we reached the cape. Conditions for photography or hairstyle maintenance weren’t ideal, but some photos of the group and individuals were obtained to record the achievement of riding all the way from Alexandria in the north to Cape L’Agulhas in the south, or around 65°62’ of the Earth’s surface, and not in a straight line either.

 

A trip back to the hotel into the relief of a small sherry, then another three small sherries to more firmly re-attach the globular objects to the copper-zinc alloy ape, a hot shower, and dinner concluded the memorable day. Apart from hanging every single piece of gear out in the hope that it would dry out in time for use on C2C Day Ultimate.

Day 80 weather started out looking a bit similar to Day 79 in the southern area, so probably a good call to reach Cape L’Agulhas early. Another change in GPS route was suggested – why not go to Cape Town via the Cape of Good Hope – and roundly approved by the damp crowd. The new route took us across to Hermanus on the coast, and then continued around the spectacular edge of False Bay, now bathed in glorious sunshine, to a meeting point at a service station for re-grouping.

After subtle removal of riding trouser innards behind the coalesced riding group screen at the service station, we bypassed Cape Town to the south and rolled slowly around through a Saturday traffic snarl to Simon’s Town and the entrance of the Cape of Good Hope National Park. Happily bypassing a huge queue of cars, in little time we arrived at the Cape, signposted as the most southwestern point of Africa, which seems a bit marginal for geographical excitement value having been to the most southern point.

Bus loads of tourists from Cape Town, which is only 65km away, made getting personalised photos at the sign tricky, so Andrew cleared the mobs by pushing in with the 1200GS.

Spectacular weather with bearable wind strength demanded a seaside free-for-all grab style lunch, with an eland watching us opening and tasting lots of remnant fruit and vegetables, salami, tins, and packets of stuff from the hill across the road. With lunch done and the leftovers packed up to hand over to someone needy, we mounted up for the final push into Cape Town. The traffic had eased a bit, so within an hour or so we were pulling into the Lagoon Beach Hotel, the official end of the riding component.

The fun hadn’t finished though; with the official close of the tour dinner held on Evening 80 at the Den Anker restaurant on the very stylish Victoria and Alfred Waterfront. Some food was assumed eaten and some grogs assumed consumed in the celebration, not much more detail than that can be provided with any certainty, but the atmosphere prior to ordering Belgian beer was one of proud achievement of a group of people who had arrived in Cairo three months earlier as strangers, and were now a team of friends who had supported each other the whole way down the continent. The humour and comfort in each other’s presence especially out on the road made it a lot of fun.

Day 81 was a Sunday, so the bikes could not be taken around to the shipping agent, but this provided a timely opportunity to clean the riding gear, make sure the fuel quantity in the tanks was low, and pack the stuff that was to be strapped to the bikes. Two wash cycles and three rinse cycles were required on the riding jacket and pants in the hotel bathtub, and although the ring in the tub still appeared, it was only 1cm high and a light grey by the end so the gear was considered close enough to sterile.

 

Day 82 was taking the bikes around to Adrian the shipping agent, and as Nicolas, Adrian and Hera, and Kathy and Craig had all departed, some fun was had volunteering to ride their bikes over. Only one absent owner bike was involved in a high speed police chase through Cape Town, although the rider didn’t believe that the authorities would have recorded the number plate while passing that police car at 193kmh, and he could claim the advantage of further reducing the excess fuel inventory.

South Africa was an easy country to ride in and visit, similar to Namibia, but the roads around the coast are fantastic and well worth an extended riding tour alone. Cape Town easily met the very high expectations given to us by everyone who had been there before – scenery, tourist activities, restaurants – the whole deal, and the garden route to Port Elizabeth is something we were a bit sad to have missed out on. But there is always next time.

With appreciation and thanks to the following for the fun and the great adventure over the 16,500km across 11 countries (according to the GPS route) from Alexandria to Cape Town:

Ride Leader Andrew, Support Vehicle Drivers Mick (Egypt and Sudan), Brendan (Ethiopia and Kenya), and Bayne (The Rest), and the whole Compass Expeditions team in Melton working hard to make sure the Ride Leader and Support Vehicle Drivers submitted their paperwork in an appropriate format and on time, otherwise they would definitely have slacked off between 2 and 2:30am most days. The team’s support during the dark days of Cindy’s broken leg in Ethiopia will not be forgotten.

The preparation work provided by Compass prior to the trip was first class, or so I hear from Cindy because I’d sort of unofficially delegated everything to anyone who cared. From our perspective the tour certainly ran smoothly, and as mentioned in Planning to Plan the Cairo to Cape Town, or P2P the C2C, like Roald Amundsen during his successful 1911 bid to reach the South Pole, I also put weight on which is measure of planning and executing success. Or decent buffets, not sure which.

To our riding partners and friends; Adrian and Hera and Alma, Ride Leader Andrew, Craig and Kathy, Nicolas, Stan, and Terry; your help and humour were relentless over the journey and the blog series is dedicated to your collective ability to do enough ridiculous and amusing stuff to make it great fun to write.